


Cater to You

by OtherWorldsIveLivedIn



Series: Serves You Right [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Baking!Simon, Baz x His Heart Eyes for Simon Snow, Canon Compliant, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Established Relationship, Ficlet, Fluff, Fundraiser, I want it so bad!!!, M/M, POV Baz, POV Simon, Playful and happy, Post-Canon, Reflections on healing from trauma, Simon is thirsty for Baz in a suit, Simon is thirsty for Baz in an apron, Simon is thirsty for Baz in general, Therapy Baking, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, let Simon be pals with his Uncle, soft snowbaz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28137645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtherWorldsIveLivedIn/pseuds/OtherWorldsIveLivedIn
Summary: CARRY ON COUNTDOWN, DAY 23 - BAKINGSimon’s been therapy baking for a while now, and we all know Lady Ruth loves to feed everybody cake...Post-canon ❤️soft Snowbaz❤️, because it’s a basic requirement on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.This is a follow-up ficlet toServes You Rightbut, as everything is canon-compliant, you don't have to read Serves You Right first!
Relationships: Ruth Salisbury & Simon Snow, Simon Snow x Food, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Uncle Salisbury & Simon Snow
Series: Serves You Right [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941562
Comments: 7
Kudos: 62
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2020





	Cater to You

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [sconelover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover) and [twokisses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twokisses/pseuds/twokisses) who were my original betas way back when I first wrote this! And thank you to [NineMagicks](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/NineMagicks) for beta’ing now 🥰

** Simon**

Lady Ruth _(Grandma_ Ruth, Simon) told me she was hosting a big fundraiser for the British Stammering Association and asked me to bake for it, given how much she liked her birthday cake last year.

 _“All Aristocrats want is cake and champagne, Simon, and your cakes are exceptional,”_ she said over lunch three months ago. I’ve had to bake loads because there’s no other food being served. Baz almost went spare when he saw the mountains of desserts taking up the kitchen this morning.

Lady Ruth _(Grandma_ Ruth, Simon) loves cake. She’s always encouraging everyone to eat more and more cake and the idea that she wants all these high-end donors to eat _my_ cakes fills me with something that, while still rare, is becoming more and more familiar nowadays; pride.

I’ve been baking for a while now, ever since I started trying to get my life back together three years ago. It was only to help with my concentration at first, but it quickly became something I do for myself; there’s nothing quite like creating a recipe all of my own and really pulling it off. And I know I’m good at it.

After I started therapy (the second time) I learned not to always believe my head when it tells me all that shite; that I’m not good enough to achieve what I want. ( _That I’d lose it all anyway, that I don’t even deserve it in the first place_.)

I’m doing real good, to be honest, but sometimes I still get lost. It’s like my brain has kept all these bad memories and feelings stored away like marbles and sometimes I see or hear something that makes the bag shake and a few roll out. Or sometimes I can’t help but pick one or two out myself to look at and when that happens, well, I can get trapped for a while, staring at them.

But it’s been happening a lot less recently, the fixating. And Baz has been great with me during my freakouts. He always is. I don’t have to hide it, not from Baz.

Anyway, I don’t expect these people to go easy on my baking. I mean, they’ll be overly polite about it, I’m sure, but I’ve been watching Baz and his family for so long that I’ve gotten pretty damn good at knowing when posh people mean the exact opposite of what they’re saying. (Contrary to what Baz believes, I’m not actually that unobservant. Not when it comes to him.)

I wonder where he is, anyway. I left him at home, in our bathroom, to come to the club early and unload the cakes onto the serving tables, but that was at least an hour ago and he’s still nowhere to be seen. He’s meant to be schmoozing the rich guests, and I know the doors aren’t open yet but it’s just like Baz to skip out on all the setting up and waltz in midway through in some tailor-made Prada suit, looking all sexy and imperious.

As if summoned by me thinking the word Prada, Baz strides up to the welcome table, champagne somehow already in hand. I watch as he circles a fingertip around the rim of his glass absentmindedly while talking to one of the organisers. I love everything about Baz when he wears dark green. The team wanted him here “to finesse donations” and it won’t be hard for him; Baz is always dripping in finesse. I try to direct my attention back to the cakes.

* * *

** Baz **

I enjoy being involved with Simon’s family. I’ve known the Salisburys my whole life. They’re not very powerful and a little crass—Daphne was frequently trying to pull me away from Lady Ruth when I was growing up as she’d spin her bawdry jokes to the crowds—but they’re kind and well-intentioned, and Lady Ruth has been pushing cake onto my siblings since before they could chew. (Of course Simon’s a Salisbury.)

I see him standing behind a table, apron on, and it reminds me instantly of all the serving duties we performed together over the years; all the fighting. Hell, all the fighting we’ve done period. At school, loving him felt like a bloodsport. And, once the hostility between us ended, it took a while for me to trust that I could love him so openly. To _let_ myself do that. It took some time to find the _us_ underneath all of that; underneath the ‘enemies’, the puppet strings and the conflicts we’d always known.

That’s not to say we don’t fight now; we still do, sometimes, but we’re so much better at communication than we once were. We both have a tendency to get tangled in our insecurities, but once we made the effort to be more open, we found we understood each other in ways no one else could. I always knew we matched.

I watch him for a minute—feeling ridiculously sentimental—and make the decision to help. He looks up as I walk behind the table and sidle up next to him.

“Nice of you to show up,” he deadpans by way of greeting, but I see the teasing glint in his eye.

“We both know I’m always worth the wait, Snow,” I say, a little ostentatiously. I watch as he runs his eyes down my body unashamedly, lingering on the exposed bits of my chest on his way back up. I’ve never been one for buttoning shirts past my sternum and Snow’s never once complained.

“I’m here to help, Love, what do you want me to do?”

He looks at me sceptically and I know he’s surprised I’d even offer, given my ensemble is expensive (not that I think he even knows who Tom Ford is). I raise my eyebrow at him. “I won't offer again, Snow.”

“Fine, you can start by unpacking the mini fruit cakes.”

I don an apron and gloves (making a mental note to take the time to moisturise my hands properly later, after these monstrosities) and ignore the surprised look on his face, as if four years later he still doesn’t know I’d do anything for him.

I try to start on my task but notice out the corner of my eye that he’s just stood watching me. I raise my brow questioningly at him and I’m met with a smirk.

“Baz,” he starts, reaching for me, “c’mere, I want to kiss you.”

“Get in line, Snow,” I tease, turning back to the cake I’m decanting.

“Oi!” He moves to grab me but almost knocks the platter onto the floor, the oaf.

“Watch it!” Thank Merlin for my quick reflexes. “Crowley, you’re no better at this than when we were at Watford.”

He laughs. “Can hardly blame me. You’re even more distracting now than you were then.”

“Well, I’ve heard there will be billionaires in attendance so you have to keep your eyes on the prize, Snow,” I tell him.

He bites his lower lip and winks at me and I hate myself for the breathy laugh he startles out of me.

I groan lightheartedly but my smile betrays me. “You’re incredibly cheesy.”

He grins at me, sneaking a kiss before turning his attention back to lining up the Petit Gugelhupf.

I’d burn the world down for this idiot.

* * *

**  
Simon **

Baz in an apron is doing things to me and I decide to file that away for later. (Would it be weird to role play serving duty from school as a sex thing? Never mind. Focus, Simon.)

I’m trying to organise these mini Bundt cake things when I hear my name, and look up to see a stocky guy with a similar grin to my own over by the welcome table, waving at me enthusiastically while a butler tries to pin a name tag on him. I’m shocked to see him; Uncle Oliver rarely ever comes to these events, given he’s a dud. (Like I am, now.) _(You deserve to be here. You were asked to be here.)_ I think he’s only here to support me.

Uncle Oliver was proper patient with me after we all found out… who I was. We get on extremely well, given that he knows what it’s like to live without magic. He understands me in ways a lot of people in the World of Mages just can’t.

He gets caught by Lady Ruth _(Grandma Ruth_ , Simon) and pulled away towards the donation table. He throws a pained expression my way and Baz and I burst out laughing. She’ll have him making the rounds all evening, poor guy.

It was difficult for me to be around her at first; it still is sometimes. She’s incredibly affectionate, and it's been almost three years but I’m still getting used to these magickal high society events; the etiquette, taboos, titles… and the looks when I get it wrong. I’m still trying to figure out how to fit into her world of elites and socialites. (Into this side of Baz’s world.)

I mean I know that Baz doesn’t actually give a flying toss about all this stuff, no matter how many times a day he might call me an “uncultured swine”. He still tries for his trademark taunting but he hasn’t hit the mark in years. (His soft eyes undercut any insults he sends my way nowadays.) Pen says it’s our own twisted way of flirting and I think she’s right.

Baz picks up the next lot of cakes and snaps, “Don’t leave me to do all the work now, you lazy sod.”

(Like I said.)

* * *

** Baz **

We’re fast approaching opening time and I’m trying not to make it obvious that I’m watching Snow for signs of spiralling. Sometimes Snow disappears. He can get lost in his mind, but he always returns to me—a little worse for wear, a little faded for a while, but still so beautiful.

“Hey.” I nudge him with my elbow. “All good?”

He grins at me a little sheepishly. “Yeah Baz... I just... well, this is making me hungry, but they specifically asked for twenty five portions of everything.” I watch him gaze forlornly at the brownies and I snort.

“Shut up,” he grumbles.

“They won’t miss one brownie, Snow.”

I watch him chew his lip while he mulls over stealing a brownie as if it were a huge betrayal. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right…” He doesn’t sound certain but he removes his glove and reaches across the table.

I wait for him to take a large bite before I smirk and call, “Lady Ruth!”

He looks at me stricken, eyes wide, mouth open so I can see all the half-chewed brownie mess, the rest of the evidence bending dangerously in his hand; it’s disgustingly adorable.

He makes a noise that I recognise as my name from years of him calling me with his mouth full, and starts shovelling the rest of the brownie into his mouth frantically. I burst out laughing.

“Calm down, you barbarian; she didn’t even hear me,” I manage between my giggles.

“You’re such a prat,” he snaps at me, but that just starts me off again. I catch his grin as he walks over to the next tray of desserts.

Crowley; _giggling_. I find myself doing that a lot these days. Snow might still call me a “chronic git” but I really am a changed man since school. We both are. He’s a little less naive, hard-headed, and self-sacrificing, but he’s still just as kind as he’s always been, still as warm and caring. Still as _good._

Even though he’s been nervous, I think doing Lady Ruth’s fundraiser has helped. All afternoon he’s been quiet confidence and huge grins.

I’m so proud of the man he’s becoming.

* * *

**  
Simon **

_“Five minutes until doors!”_ one of the event staff shouts. Everything’s set up and looking good and I’m feeling over the moon, I’ve got to be honest. Baz can’t take his eyes off me when I’m like this and I preen a little under his stare. He’s not as discreet as he thinks he is. (He doesn’t need to be, not now.)

I turn to him suddenly and he jolts a little bit at being caught watching. I smirk at him and wander over to stand between his legs where he’s sitting on a table next to our empty cake tubs. He’s shorter than me when we’re like this since Baz is all legs (long, muscular, strong legs), and I love it. He’s smiling as he hooks his ankles around my calves and I let my smirk extend into a full on grin. I don’t want to hide how happy I am. How in love I am.

I pull him in for a kiss, still smiling against his lips.

* * *

** Baz **

I rub my nose against his as he pulls back. He always chuckles when I do that and I love it.

His eyes are practically sparkling and I feel so fortunate that I’m the person who gets to share this with him. All day he’s looked so alive, so _happy_. And why shouldn’t he be, he’s done all of this himself. He’ll be riding the afterglow later and I know tonight will be interesting.

The doors open and we both turn to see quite a large crowd of people entering the hall, Lady Ruth greeting as many as she can.

I give him a little kiss on the mole on his neck that I love so much and push him by the hips towards the counter. “Carry on, Simon.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr here: [OtherWorldsIveLivedIn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/otherworldsivelivedin) 🥰


End file.
